


HSWC Bonus Round Fills

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, F/F, F/M, Homestuck Shipping World Cup, Humanstuck, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:45:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various fills made for bonus rounds in the 2013 Homestuck Shipping World Cup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cronus/Roxy, 1920s speakeasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Dreamwidth user ladyspade101, for the [prompt](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/5337.html?thread=1942745#cmt1942745):  
> " _Cronus <3Roxy_  
> America, 1920's, a speak easy"

You were maybe kind of a little bit fried. In truth, you’d been on a toot since half past noon. So, when this great hulking brute of a fellow shoved you aside at the bar and started ordering a South Side, you weren’t exactly quiet about registering your disapproval.

Long story short, you got into a fistfight. Rather, your fist got into a fight with the aforementioned brute’s face. The bartender objected. You objected to his objection. He called over the bird who watches the door, and both you and Mr. Bimbo were dragged up stairs, marched through corridors, and thrown out the back door of the juice joint. There endeth (endedeth? you're not sure) the lesson.

Except the lesson isn’t really over, is it? You’re still many blocks away from home, sitting in the gutter of a nameless street next to a guy you totally punched. Your glad rags do little to arouse the mercy of the elements, viz. the downpour that’s just begun. And you are so ossified you’re practically a skeleton. Nuts.

The guy emits a piteous moan. You observe him. Under the glare of the arc lamps--so different from the dim, charming lighting of the fine establishment that was one of the few speakeasies you could gain access to, and that you will never again be allowed to enter--he seems a good deal less hulking. Perhaps you shouldn’t have hit him. He shouldn’t have shoved you, but you shouldn’t have hit him. Oh man, you really shouldn’t have hit him.

“Say, mac,” you venture. “That’s gonna be one hell of a shiner.”

He grumbles something unintelligible. Well, you can make out a couple words, but you’re feeling charitable enough to overlook them. Mostly.

“You wanna get out of the the rain? There’s a diner a couple streets over.” 

“They serve raw steak?” he says. He lays a cautious hand on his eye and winces at the contact. You’re too bent to tell for sure, but the action seems to hold at least some theatrical flair.

“They got ice, at least.” You haul yourself up ungracefully. “Let’s ankle. Coffee’s on me.”

He looks you over once, then shrugs. “As long as you’re buying.”

You take a wrong turn, so “a couple streets” turns out to be seven or eight streets. On the plus side (or perhaps not), this gives you time to sober up a little and become acquainted with your companion. You learn that Mr. Bimbo’s name is Cronus; that he is stuck on a choice bit of calico named Meenah who wouldn’t give him the time of day if he were late to his own execution; and that you don’t actually feel bad about punching him, and would do it again if it meant his gob would stop flapping for five goddamn minutes.

Thankfully, Cronus pipes down once you enter the diner. You suspect this has something to do with the couple necking in the corner. As much as the waitress doesn’t like the two of you, she likes those two even less.

“What can I get you?” she says dourly, chewing on the end of her pencil. She keeps shooting glances in their direction. 

Cronus butts in before you can order. “I’ll have a glass of ice. And a steak. And a pot of coffee. And, uh, how about the blue plate special, and a slice of pie as well?” You glare at him.

“And you?” The waitress shifts her attention to you.

You’re about to ask for _just a glass of water, please, no actually I’d like a dozen eggs, a pound of bacon, and could you throw in a giant sign that says “I am a patsy”?_ , when the diner door slams open and GREAT JUMPING JEHOSHAPHAT those are some men with guns, those are.

“Nobody move!” commands a short, angry man, hoisting a chopper in the air. A shorter, much more pleasant-looking Charlie and a tall dapper fellow guard opposite sides of the room, while a baby grand with a giant baton heads for the back of the house.

One of the couple in the corner screams. Cronus’s head whips around.

“Meenah!” he says. “That’s her!” His hand goes to his jacket, and you notice for the first time tonight that he has a gun. You cover his other hand with your own--a warning--and use _your_ other hand to feel around in your pockets for your own firearm. 

Looks like it’ll be another of those nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End note from the original comment:
> 
> "With debts acknowledged to [this](http://www.theatlanticwire.com/entertainment/2012/10/how-sound-bees-knees-dictionary-1920s-slang/58146/), [this](http://home.earthlink.net/~dlarkins/slang-pg.htm), and [this](http://www.foodrepublic.com/2011/09/26/our-10-favorite-prohibition-cocktails).
> 
> "If you are wondering, Meenah totally arranged her own kidnapping by the Midnight Crew. A hapless Karkat is along for the ride. They're pretty mad when the plan is foiled."
> 
> I am sorry that most of this did not take place in a speakeasy.


	2. Terezi/Vriska, 1920s America

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Dreamwidth user kilorose, for the [prompt](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/5337.html?thread=1926361#cmt1926361):  
> " _Vriska/Terezi, any quadrant  
>  1920s America, Prohibition/Speakeasy Era_"

“This is the worst place I have ever been.” Terezi crosses her arms across her chest and surveys the speakeasy’s poorly lit sanctum, scowling in every direction her head can turn.

“You say that about every place I take you, baby doll!” Vriska tries for charming, but the upswing in her tone at the end and the accompanying gap-toothed smile launch the effect straight into obnoxious. Her eyes are too bright, her flashy blue suit looks cheap, and her nose has recently been broken and reset.

“That’s because everywhere you take me is either horrible, a den of vice, or a horrible den of vice!” Terezi uncrosses her arms to poke Vriska on the collar. “Also because _you_ are horrible.”

Vriska chortles. “That’s my girl! How ’bout I buy you a drink?”

“How ’bout you go suck eggs,” says Terezi.

Vriska claps her on the shoulder and starts heading for the bar. “Bartender! Two jorums of skee! No, make that three. No, four.”

“This is so illegal,” mutters Terezi. Left alone in the corner of the horrible den of vice, she fiddles with the clasp of her clutch. She is short, chubby, and conservatively dressed, with dark shoulder-length hair that sticks on the rims of her round glasses. Her eyes dart shrewdly around the room, lighting occasionally on a certain patron. 

Vriska returns carrying four little glasses of clear liquid. Terezi reaches for one, but Vriska heads past her to slam the glasses down on a nearby tabletop. It is messier and less dramatic than she appears to have intended. Liquor sloshes out, releasing a sharp, unpleasant scent.

“Jeepers creepers, what did you do that for?”

“Thought it would be cool,” Vriska says mournfully.

“Thought it would be cool,” Terezi mocks. She knocks back what remains of two glasses before Vriska can intervene, and grabs a third.

“Hey!” Vriska snatches up the last glass. “Learn to share, wouldja?”

“I am sharing. Your share is all over the table.” Terezi polishes off the third glass, pausing to shudder as the moonshine burns its way down her throat.

Vriska laughs at her, then doubles up coughing as she tries the same thing. This makes Terezi laugh, which makes _her_ start coughing, and it is a few moments before both can speak again.

“Learn to hold your coffin varnish, wouldja?”

“Somebody’s got a cleeeeeeeean coffin.”

Some mild commotion across the room draws their attention. A man in a gray suit--the patron Terezi has been eying--has just paid his tab and is preparing to depart the speakeasy.

“Speaking of coffins,” whispers Vriska. Terezi shushes her.

Vriska goes up to pay the bill. She knocks shoulders with the man, apologizes to him in fake-slurring tones. He responds warmly, pleasant and sloppy with alcohol. Terezi dabs at the wet tabletop with a handkerchief. 

They wait until the man heads out the exit. Then they wait a little longer. He’s got a head start, but it’s not hard to find him once they’re out on the street again.

They follow him for a couple blocks, then duck into an alley. Vriska produces a firearm from her breast pocket, readjusts her suit jacket. Terezi withdraws a handgun from her clutch.

“All right?” says Vriska.

“Right,” affirms Terezi.

He doesn’t even see them coming.


	3. Damara/Meenah

The patch of ground under Meenah’s bedroom window is littered with cigarette butts.

“Are you sure you don’t smoke?” asks Aranea, raking more leaves into the growing pile on the lawn.

“Will you get off my case, Serket? I said no.” Meenah has abandoned her rake and is busy inspecting her nails.

“Feferi…?”

“Are you kidding? Fef don’t even drink coffee.” Meenah frowns at a loose rhinestone on her thumbnail.

“Vriska used to smoke,” says Aranea. “She still might. I’m not sure. I had a long talk with her about it when I found out, and I think she was scared straight, but she’s been distant lately…”

Meenah picks up her rake and pretends to spear an invisible enemy. “Vriska doesn’t smoke.”

“I guess you’d know better than me,” sniffs Aranea.

“Shell yeah I would,” says Meenah. “Know everything about everyone. Got all the dirt. All of it.”

Aranea makes a vicious stabbing motion with her rake. “Doesn’t your mother’s new suitor smoke?”

“Yeah, but not at our house. Besides, he’s classy! Wouldn’t do somefin like that.” Meenah pauses in sudden, horrified awareness. “D’you think it was Ampora?”

Aranea grimaces. “Considering the numerous and inventive ways you’ve threatened to harm him if he contacts you again, uh…”

“Ughhhhh.” Meenah moans. “That’s so fuckin creepy. Hey, let’s get out of here.”

“We haven’t even been raking for fifteen minutes, Meenah.”

“I don’t caaaare. Nobody cares. Clam on, let’s go to the Searcle K.”

Aranea regards Meenah sternly over the tops of her glasses. “Really?”

“Yes reely! I want Fun Dip.”

\--

 

The Circle K is almost deserted. It smells like air conditioning and stale Funions inside, laced with a healthy undertone of car deodorizer.

Meenah spends a great deal of time in the candy aisle, hemming and hawing over this candy necklace or that gummy hamburger kit. Finally, she re-selects the Fun Dip. Aranea buys a blue raspberry Icee. She slurps it while waiting for Meenah to check out.

“You decided?” says Aranea.

“Uh,” says Meenah. Damara Megido has just emerged from the Circle K stockroom.

The three girls regard each other for a moment. Then Damara turns away and starts restocking packages of sunflower seeds.

“Yo, did you hire this crazy bitch?” Meenah asks the cashier. Damara’s shoulders are shaking, very slightly.

“Excuse me?” says the cashier.

“Never mind,” says Meenah, shoving a handful of change across the counter. She nicks a Ring Pop on her way out.

Aranea starts heading for Meenah’s house, but Meenah grabs her arm. “Let’s see if we can get in through the back.”

“I am not helping you steal, Meenah!”

“Watever, I’ll go by myself.”

Meenah starts toward the back of the Circle K, Aranea following at a furious pace. Suddenly, Meenah stops. She puts a hand out, halting Aranea in her tracks.

Damara is standing by the back door, smoking.

\--

 

The next morning, Meenah and Aranea find sunflower seed hulls mixed in with fresh cigarette butts.


	4. Jade/Kanaya, Girls' night out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/15805.html?thread=2490045#cmt2490045

The sun had just set, the air was fresh but not cold, and two girls who had grown up with a very different understanding of the word "nightlife" were heading down a major street of a city renowned for its nightlife. The girls cut a clear path along the crowded sidewalk. One was small, short, and bubbling with barely contained energy. The other had something unearthly about her, something slightly but still noticeably alien, and she was very--well--she was very--

The thing she always forgot about Kanaya, thought Jade, was that she was tall. It wasn't a troll thing, Kanaya's tallness. The taller trolls Jade knew could loom like nobody's business. A few of them could even be said to tower. However, none of them held the same quality of dizzying, dazzling height. Even de-glowified and draped head to claw in drab neutrals, Kanaya resembled a fairy godmother from one of the more fanciful tales. And tonight she was wearing six-inch heels.

"Kanaya," said Jade, feeling the unfamiliar pavement through the soles of her flats. "We are going to have _so much fun_ tonight."

Kanaya adjusted the brim of her hat. "Yes," she said.

Jade widened the sidewalk to accommodate a woman pushing a stroller. "So much fun," she repeated.

Kanaya stepped over an small dog and nodded politely to its owner. "I have looked forward to experiencing your human "girls' night"."

"I gotta say, you've certainly dressed the part!" Jade cast an admiring glance over Kanaya's ensemble.

Kanaya blushed.

"So," she said, trying to cover the blush, "what do you want to do first?"

"Welllllllllllllll... I was thinking we could find a shooting range, or maybe a zoo that's open at night? And I don't think he knows that much about girls' night, but Dave says Olive Garden is a "must visit!" I haven't seen any around here, though. Um. Does that sound cool to you?"

Kanaya nodded. The shooting range sounded like a good idea. However, there was something else on her mind.

"Jade," said Kanaya.

"Hmm?" said Jade distractedly. She was looking around. It was a lovely night, almost like day with all the lights.

Kanaya hesitated. "Do you think we might," she said.

"Yes?" said Jade.

"Do you think you might like to dance later? I mean." They were passing a store whose front was decked with tiny colorful lights; Kanaya stared at the reflections in her heels. "I would buy you a drink."

"Oh." Jade's face lit up with slyness. "Yes! But...only if I can buy you one too."

"Okay," said Kanaya.

They walked along for a while, both smiling.


End file.
